


Obviously

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Season/Series 03 Spoilers, mild spoilers S3E1 The Empty Hearse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:30:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILERS FOR THE EMPTY HEARSE<br/>Mary and Sherlock talk about John</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obviously

**Author's Note:**

> You know the bit at the end of TEH where Mary mentions the wedding and Sherlock refuses but then winks? It seemed to me almost like he and Mary had a sort of inside joke about the wedding, which turned into this.  
> I've been writing this in my head all day and I'm so happy to finally get it down. Hope you enjoy it :)

John was being helped into an ambulance. He had insisted that he was fine, but thanks to the lingering effects of whatever sedative had been used by their mysterious opponent he was having trouble walking. Sherlock didn’t like seeing his friend lying on a stretcher. It made him look small and- despite his height- John was anything but small. Small implied a lack of importance. To Sherlock, nothing could be further from the truth.  
As the ambulance doors swung closed, the detective turned away and shoved his hands in his pockets. He hissed in pain and pulled them out again, examining his palms. Angry red blisters decorated his skin and his whole hand was red and tight. Burns from the fire? Of course- he’d torn it apart with his bare hands to save John. Strange that he hadn’t noticed before.  
“You should have gone with him. Get those looked at.”  
Mary Morstan. John’s fiancé. Sherlock had only known her for a day or so- why would she care if he was hurt? Perhaps it was just kindness. There was little doubt that she was a kind woman- John would never love someone who wasn’t. Satisfied with his answer, Sherlock turned to look at her, shaking his head.  
“I’ll be fine. Nothing I haven’t handled before,” he replied, noting with a small hint of pride that his voice hadn’t wavered from the smooth deep baritone he was known for. She frowned slightly and looked at him, apparently thinking of an appropriate reply. Sherlock hoped it would be something more interesting than John’s girlfriends usually responded with when they found him in the middle of an experiment. Still, Mary appeared more intelligent than the others had been. She understood the logic behind Sherlock’s methods, if not his reasons, for allowing John to believe he was dead and she had understood the coded texts almost instantly as well.  
During the pause in the conversation he took the opportunity to study her more closely. From their first meeting in the restaurant he had deduced several things about her- was there any more information to be gleaned? Loose thread at her sleeve from tugging at the cuffs- nervous, or merely cold? The bitten mark on her lip suggested the former. So she genuinely cared about John. Interesting. Sherlock mentally scored out several half-formed worries about her potential involvement with whoever had kidnapped John. Even if she was somehow involved, he now had a weakness to exploit. Good.  
“Come on then,” she said, jolting him from his thoughts. “I still think you should get those hands checked, but I can tell you’re not going to be an easy man to persuade. Seeing as neither of us will be okay until John is better, do you want to grab a coffee? I know a nice quiet place near the hospital where we can wait.”  
Before he could reply, Mary had started to walk and he hurried to catch up.  
“Yes, that would be sensible. Thank you.”  
The words sounded normal, but Sherlock’s mind was churning. _An engine, tearing itself apart…_ Without a case to solve, he couldn’t expend any of the energy that was boiling up inside him. ‘ _You’ve got a case,_ ’ he reminded himself. ‘Find out who did this. Hurt them.’ Because he did want to hurt them, haul them before the courts and see them pay for what they had done to John. Except that brought him back to his first thought- “Neither of us will be okay until John is better”, Mary had said. He was scared by how close to the mark she was.  
These thoughts kept him occupied as he walked behind Mary to the café. He tried to distract himself when he walked in, deducing everything he could about the waiters and the few other customers.  
 _Scratch on wrist. New watch? Fibres in his shoe suggest a new carpet. Changed his hairdresser, having an affair…_  
Sherlock sighed. No use- the worry about John still plagued him and he was running out of room for anything else. Mary ordered for both of them and Sherlock chose a table in the corner furthest from the door. Mary followed him, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. Sherlock took a sip, paused, and looked up at her.  
“Black, two sugars. How did you know?”  
She laughed, her easy smile returning. “Easy. This is how he always makes mine when he isn’t paying attention. Always forgets that I take mine with milk.”  
The casual reminder of just how much Sherlock’s absence had affected John felt like a painful twist of the knife in his stomach. Not like the stabbing- that had happened almost two years previously, just before he took that last step from the hospital roof.  
Abruptly he realised that Mary was still speaking. These momentary lapses in concentration were becoming increasingly frequent; most annoying.  
“-not the only one with deductive powers, you know,” she was saying. “I can see things too. You think you’re so clever at keeping things secret, and if I believe John- which I do- that is true. But you’re absolutely awful at hiding your emotions.”  
She put her coffee down, looking up across the table. Her smile had all but disappeared, her gaze stern as she continued.  
“You’re in love with him.”  
A simple statement, spoken without jealousy or malice. Sherlock found himself appreciating the blunt logic of her statement, and so he decided not to waste time on pointless excuses when they both knew the answer.  
“Obviously.”  
“Yet you’re okay with him marrying me?”  
Sherlock looked away, the knife twisting again. Of course he wasn’t okay. What a stupid question. He had died for this man, more or less, and now John was moving on while Sherlock was still living two years in the past. He took a second, formulating an appropriate answer, then forced himself to look back up.  
“I disappeared from his world for a year. I should have known something like this would happen. As far as you are concerned, I don’t mind as much as I otherwise might. You seem… like you will be good for him. There is no reason I should concern myself with the wedding- after all, I’ve been gone for two years. Who knows what sort of shenanigans he’s got up to while I was…”  
“Dead?” supplied Mary helpfully, half-laughing. Sherlock glared.  
“Absent.”  
She grinned. Sherlock smiled grudgingly back, the ache inside him lessening slightly. Despite his initial misgivings, he liked Mary. She was intelligent, funny, and reasonably attractive. John could not have made a better choice in the person who he would spend his life with.  
“You wanted him to spend his life with you,” came her voice from across the table. Sherlock looked up, confused. It was as though she had read his mind. He shook himself, trying to reassert his standard professional demeanour. He had no idea why he was choosing to show his heart now- in a small café near the hospital, talking to a near-stranger.  
“It makes no difference.”  
Mary sighed, realising that she wasn’t going to get anywhere.  
“In that case, you realise that the wedding is definitely on? And that he’s going to want you for his best man?”  
Sherlock felt himself recoil. This wasn’t part of the plan. He was going back to Baker Street, he was going to solve crimes and try to forget that John wasn’t by his side. He definitely wasn’t planning to be the best man at the wedding of the only person he’d ever loved. And what did a best man do anyway?  
“You get to organise the stag night,” said Mary with a sly smile. Sherlock’s head snapped up.  
“Stop doing that.”  
“Doing what?”  
“Knowing what I’m thinking. It’s annoying.”  
She gave him a bemused sort of laugh.  
“Stag night, Sherlock. Think about it. You get to see him drunk, you’d be drunk- maybe you can sort things out between you?”  
The detective’s brow furrowed in confusion.  
“You mean you don’t mind?”  
“About you being in love with my fiancé? Of course I don’t mind. I’m not taking him away from you, you know. I won’t let him leave.”  
Sherlock regarded her for a while, scanning her expression and body language for any signs that she might be lying. Eventually he relented.  
“Alright. For John. And I suppose there will be dancing?”  
“Oh, of course.”  
Sherlock nodded, the ghost of a smile flitting across his face.  
“Until John asks me, though, please keep up-”  
“I know, I know,” laughed Mary. “You don’t do weddings.”

**Author's Note:**

> The usual end notes- these characters don't belong to me, I make no profit from this, and I love reviews/comments/suggestions almost as much as I love Nutella :D


End file.
